“I didn’t see you in class this morning,” I remarked to Liv as she took the seat I offered her beside me in Art.
She stared at me for the longest time and then shook her head. “Nope. You sure didn’t.”
Her attitude got old fast. She was supposed to be my best friend and she was avoiding me like I had the plague. “Look, I think this is dragging on a bit long. I told you I was sorry for not telling you about my crush on Haze and that I’m a horrible friend, but blowing me off isn’t helping things.”
She turned her full body to face me then. “Yeah? What about not telling me that Romeo over there,” she nodded her head toward where Haze sat talking with Mrs. Peris, “climbed up the tower to your window last Friday?”
“Who tol—”
“Your insane brother called me Sunday, demanding to know why I didn’t tell him things between you and Haze were so serious! And I told him that I didn’t know what he was talking about. You know what he said to me then?”
I shook my head, pretty sure I didn’t want to know what he said to her then.
“He said, ‘What kind of friend are you?’ And you know what? I didn’t have an answer because I thought we were the best kind, but apparently we’re not.”
Yeah, I was right about the not wanting to know that bit.
I took a deep breath, accepting the handout as Haze walked around the classroom and gave us each one. Liv looked like she wanted to hurl hers back at him.
“I thought we were through, Haze and me. We’d barely begun anything when the Cathy incident happened, and he came to my room to explain his actions and give me a verbal smackdown for mine. The rest of the weekend went by in a blur, and it isn’t as if you called me to hang out or anything.”
“I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your cell.”
“I’m not exactly sure where it is half the time. I think the battery went dead because I tried to call it and—”
“You have a house phone,” she countered.
“Yeah, but I don’t know your number by heart.”
She scoffed. “Don’t you think you should know your own best friend’s number?”
“Oh, right. And you know mine?”
“Yes,” she hissed, complete with hair flip of indignation.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s…two.”
“What?”
Liv lifted a shoulder, trying to pretend she was being completely rational. “It’s number two on my speed dial.”
“Listen up!” Mrs. Peris called out to the class. “We’re going to do a little landscaping of the mind today. I want you all to close your eyes, and for the next five minutes, I don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you. I want you to visualize a landscape that brings out your emotions, happy, sad…silly, whatever. I want you to look at the negative space of that landscape, notice every detail. I want you to place yourself in the middle of this created image. And when the five minutes are over, I want you to open your eyes and draw what you saw.”
“I see my best friend pouring toxic waste all over my landscape,” Liv said.
I shook my head and closed my eyes as the teacher passed. If Liv wanted to be mad at me, I had no right to stop her. I couldn’t say I blamed her either, but I wasn’t going to respond to her snarky comments.
“You’re frowning, Ms. Harvey. Try to relax for this exercise,” Mrs. Peris reminded me.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
A picture of the city popped into my head. A city I both loved and hated. I was proud to live in what the majority of the USA would label “the ghetto” and equally as proud of surviving in it. My city; worse than many but better than some. Homicides were a problem every other day instead of daily and most of them involved gangsters and not innocents, so we were ahead of the curve.
I zoomed in on the cityscape in my head, thinking about my favorite trick areas for parkour. The library statues, the pizza joint, and the place we call The Tops, where all of the roofs were within one story of each other and easy to jump across. I also thought about the gym across town where I practiced gymnastics during the summer.
But none of my favorite places remained in my head for long. Soon, I zeroed in on a wall. A particular one, relatively new to me.
The place where I met Haze.
Only this time, it was just him and me. He painted my mural on the wall, and I sat on the edge looking down at his serene face.
Yes. This was my landscape.
“Open your eyes and draw what you see.”
The silence in the room felt strange. Everyone was actually focused on the project. I glanced up and looked around the room to see each student bent over their papers, furiously drawing. Even Haze took part in the project. Not that it surprised me. Any excuse to draw or paint and he’d jump on it. If I knew anything about him, I knew that.
“Quit mooning over your boyfriend and get to work before you get in trouble,” Liv whispered.
I sighed and let her have her PMS moment before turning my attention to the wall scene in my head.
To say that I’m an artist is to insult all the artists who came before me, beginning with the cavemen finger-painting wall art. But for me, this exercise brought out an unknown gift. Inspiration must’ve beat me over the head because my drawing was actually good. I couldn’t draw hands well, or people, so I sketched myself and Haze without much detail. The wall and the graffiti art, though, came out looking sweet.
I smiled down at the finished product when the bell rang.
“Is that all you think about?” Liv asked, practically spewing acid.
“Come on, Liv. I said I was sorry and I’ll try to make it up to you if you’ll let me, but now you’re being a spoiled bitch.”
She blinked at me and slammed a hand down on her drawing, crinkling it in her fist. A real shame, since from the glimpse I’d seen, it might’ve been the best thing she’d ever done. Without even glancing at me, she threw her drawing at the trash can.
“Whatever, Ellie! You’re the one being a selfish bitch.” I saw the hurt in her eyes, magnified by tears before she shoved her way past everyone and out of the room.
Ugh! I felt like a horrible person. The last week I’d been the one blowing Liv off. I’d been the one going out with her only when I had nothing else to do. And I hadn’t told her anything about Haze and me.
I met my boyfriend’s gaze over the throng of students shuffling out of class. The encouraging smile he gave me helped some, but I couldn’t feel good about myself. Not yet.
I walked nearer to him under the pretense of saving Liv’s discarded drawing. Picking up on my need to tell him something, he stalled on his way out.
“I don’t think I’ll make the park tonight,” I whispered. “You cool with meeting up with Surge?”
“I’ll go at it alone. I don’t need Surge. He’s taught me the techniques.”
“You need him to call the ambulance.”
Haze grinned at me. “Your confidence in me is amazing.”
“Oh, come on.” I laughed. “Even the veterans need 911.”
“I’ll take that,” Mrs. Peris said, plucking the drawing out of my hand.
“Oh! Sorry, Mrs. Peris. I thought I’d give it back to her.”
“I have a drawer labeled Artist Tantrums for a reason,” she said, and I laughed. “At the end of the year, I hand them out so each artist can see what they almost lost.”
Haze chuckled a little. “Everything Decay creates winds up in that drawer.”
“Our Terrence is a bit of a volatile artist,” Mrs. Peris admitted about Decay.
“Well, I think it’s a cool idea,” I said. “Guess I better get to my next class.”
Mrs. Peris nodded while ironing out Liv’s drawing. Haze took her distraction as a dismissal and walked me out of the room.
Once past the door, we pretended we weren’t “in like.”
***
“Emanuella, is it?” Liv’s mom, Mrs. Menesa, asked. Everything about her seemed severe. Her dark hair was pulled back facelift-tight and her clothes looked Amish or something. I didn’t see much resemblance between her and Liv.
Realizing I was gawking, I cleared my throat and thrust my hand out. “Yes, Ma’am.”
She smiled politely and shook my hand, but her eyes never quite lifted to meet mine. She didn’t seem the shy type. Instead, I was left to feel as though I were unworthy of notation. She backed away from the door and waved me inside.
The instant I stepped foot in Liv’s house, I felt cold down to my bones. Jesus. No wonder Liv complained about her home life so much. The place proved that money didn’t buy happiness, especially when you never stayed in one place long enough to put happiness in it.
The Menesas lived in the area of the hood called The Courts. Many of the middle-class could live like kings and queens here, and in Liv’s parents’ case, they did. They paid good money for their security system and chipped in with the rest of the small community who paid for men to patrol the four-block suburb.
I always wondered why those living in The Courts didn’t move to a better neighborhood, but Liv explained that no one could sell their homes and get what they were worth, and in better hoods, she and her family would be considered second-rate.
“Can’t have that,” she’d said snidely.
“Liv’s in her room, up the stairs and down the hall. Last door on the left.” Mrs. Menesa walked away and I had a feeling she forgot about me the second her back turned.
With every step I took, the polished floor sent echoes down the narrow corridor. The draft from the hall window went straight down my back. I half expected an axe murderer to jump out at me B-movie style, but I made it to Liv’s room in one piece.
No wonder she always stayed at her nanny’s place while her parents were gone. Rosahlia’s pad might be smaller but it felt more like a home. Of course, she made great dinners every time I visited, so I might’ve been a little biased.
I couldn’t be sure what made me so tense about this house, but something wasn’t right. The decorations were bland, the halls a stark white with even whiter trim, and every piece of corridor furniture looked abused. Not in the normal wear-and-tear sense, but antique tables were scraped of their former paint, their natural wood forcefully exposed. Other pieces were painted white to match, though clearly they hadn’t been made that way.
Furniture torture.
I knocked on Liv’s door and rushed inside the moment she opened it.
Unfortunately, her room wasn’t much better.
“Something the matter?”
“I don’t know. Your house is kinda giving me the heebies.”
“My parents are home. Enough said.”
I felt a little guilty telling her I didn’t like her house. “I guess I’m just used to Rosahlia’s.”
“No, it’s really this place. It used to be cool but my mom redecorated everything, even my room. She didn’t like my choices.”
Ahh. That explained a lot.
“I think I woulda liked it better the way you had it.”
She smiled begrudgingly. “How come you’re here?”
“Because I’m a horrible friend.”
“Go on,” she said.
“I realized what you said in Art class is true. I’ve been so full of myself that I haven’t bothered to ask how you’re doing. I’m worried about a lot of things, but that’s not a reason to ignore you and become self-involved. So, I’m here to offer myself to you.”
Her brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“I’m here to listen, to pummel, to whine at—whatever you need, Liv. You’ve been there for me when I’ve let you, and now it’s time to return the favor because I think there’s something else going on with you other than me being selfish.” I walked to her bed and sat on the edge. “And I’m not leaving here until you tell me why you were in such a foul mood in school.”
She stared at me for a while and then lifted a shoulder with the same indifference she couldn’t pull off earlier in Art. Parents often ignored this shrug thinking it was all part of teenage angst. But among ourselves, we all knew it was a way of saying “I hurt, and I don’t know how to put it to words,” so I dragged her down next to me and hugged her.
As I suspected, she cried and told me all about her horrible weekend with her coldhearted parents.
Once she calmed down, she spoke clearer and I could follow the conversation better. “I don’t know what to say to them. They ask me questions and I’m terrified to say anything in case I get the answer wrong. And the questions aren’t really the type normal kids worry about getting wrong.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“This time, they asked me how school was and if I’d given any thought to what I might do when I’m old enough to move out. Pretty subtle, huh?”
I felt horrible for her. My mother had her moments of mood swings, but I never questioned that she loved me, even after she lost the battle with her depression. I couldn’t imagine having a mother who thought of me as a burden. Though I knew firsthand, having a mother who thought of herself as a burden could be disastrous.
The air hung with the thickness of Liv’s melancholy, so I wrapped her up in another hug, hoping my continuous affection would be enough to ward off the negativity. She sniffled.
I didn’t want her to cry again. “Well, you could always tell her you hope to be a successful interior designer. Maybe then she won’t attempt it herself, ’cause Jesus, Liv, this place is creepy.”
“I know, right? I hope the ’rents leave soon so I can go back to Rosahlia’s.” She leaned away from me and eyed my pocket. “Is that your phone vibrating?”
“Huh?” At first I forgot I brought it. “Oh. Yeah. I’m trying to remember to have it on me all the time.” I fished for my cell and eyed the display. A text message. “It’s from Warp. That’s weird.”
WE NEED TO MEET NOW. SHOTGUN WALL.
I read the text message and frowned. “He wants to meet. You wanna come?”
Liv shrugged. “Sure. I’ll have to meet you out front. I’m not sure why, but I’m grounded. As long as I don’t leave in front of them, they’ll never know I’m gone.”
I smiled. “Okay, I’ll meet you around the corner.”
***
By “shotgun wall” I could only assume Warp meant the wall we were at when I met Haze. The same one where the crazy business owner came out with a shotgun. Not exactly a place I wanted to revisit, but since Warp never texted me, I figured it was important.
Liv and I walked up, and though Warp stood there, I barely noticed him. All I could see was a big depiction of my face and beside me…Heather, both of us bathed in sunshine that stretched past the clouds. A halo hung over her head and her eyes were mockingly turned up to the sky. I looked pretty normal, though my eyes were slightly rounded, almost as if I were surprised by something.
“At least I’m not fat,” I said, trying to downplay my anxiety.
“This is no time for jokes, Emanuella! This is a blatant threat. I told you hanging around that guy was trouble, and now look.” Warp wore all black, looking a little like a Ninja warrior on a kill mission. I had an image of him running across rooftops anime-style wielding a large, sharpened, and unsheathed katana in search of Haze.
“He wouldn’t do this.”
“This is his signature style. No one else in this hood paints the way he does.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I accused.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. There is a particular style to every artist’s work. And he is the only one with this thin to broad line style on the curves of these clouds, and that type of line is in every one of these pieces of you!”
“You don’t know jack about graffiti, Warp. You think someone can’t copy a style? People forge paintings all the time!”
“Yeah,” he shot back. “For millions of dollars. Who would take the time for a no-name graffiti artist?”
I folded my arms across my chest, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of his accusations. “You’re so against him you’ll say anything.”
“I don’t know, “ Liv interjected, her voice low as if she didn’t want to make me angry but wanted to give her opinion. “On a style so specific, it’s hard to imagine someone copying it.”
I studied the masterpiece more carefully. Other than the fact that I was situated beside a dead girl, I didn’t see a reason to freak out. “Let’s say you’re both right and Haze is doing this. Why? It doesn’t make any sense anymore.”
“Since when does a psycho make sense?” Warp took out his phone and began texting.
“What are you doing?” I asked, afraid he was sending out a personal APB.
“I’m going to tell Surge. I want him to keep a close eye on you at all times.”
“That’s enough, Warp!” I walked over to him and slapped his cell out of his hand. It skittered a few feet away. “I know you’re my brother and all, but you’re not my father.”
“Pops isn’t at home and can’t be, or I’d call him and tell him what’s going on!”
“I don’t know why you are making a big deal out of a stupid picture! It’s just someone trying to bully me and get under your skin. You’re falling for it!” But Haze’s words came back to me, calling me a fool or some such for challenging the writer. Could someone really be trying to threaten me because I messed with their art? Could it be Haze?
“I’m going to tell Surge anyway.” He bent and picked up his phone, rubbing it off on his pants.
“You’ll be wasting his time.”
Warp shook his head and palmed his phone. Digging around in his pocket with his other hand, he produced a folded piece of newspaper and with shaking hands, thrust it at me.
“You think I’m wasting my time?! Look at that, Emanuella, and tell me I’m being too cautious.”
Liv moved next to me and rested her chin on my shoulder as I unfolded the paper. The color print of a graffiti wall was the first thing that came into view. The next was an outline of a body right below it traced with mourning flowers.
Liv gasped, and I scanned the parts of the article that had survived Warp’s hasty ripping. I caught sight of Heather Craig’s name and realized this was her murder scene photo as it had appeared in the Tribune two years ago…
I knew Warp felt this picture was proof of guilt, so my heart didn’t want me to look too closely. My head, though, scanned the graffiti with a thirst to know the truth. The painted landscape was actually quite intricate and stunning. There were clouds that parted to reveal stylized rays of the sun, shining over the beginnings of a name over a swirling background. I could see the H and a few lines above the H that denoted there was more to the piece than I could see.
The graffiti proved Warp right about one thing, something bizarre was going on. I looked from the artwork in the photo and the newest painted on the shotgun wall in front of me. The article was damning, but I wanted more. I needed more. I needed something that didn’t make Haze look guilty.
“The photo’s caption says the graffiti is the last thing Heather ever painted. She worked on it seconds before she was murdered,” I said out loud, but my brain was lost in the enigma.
“The fact that someone is spraying in the exact same style is proof the police were wrong, LL. Heather didn’t paint that wall. Her murderer did. I think she knew whoever killed her and where he would be and she went there to confront him.”
“You’ve already convicted Haze in your mind. You think he was there painting this piece and when she came to talk to him, he killed her?”
“The police suspected him,” Warp pointed out.
“The police suspected everyone!”
I hadn’t even felt Liv move away from me but I saw her now as she stood next to my brother, her face ghost white. “This is not good, Ellie,” she said in a small voice.
I didn’t want to agree with her but I did—only, not for the reason she would think if I voiced my agreement. Right now, all I knew was that Haze thought someone was biting his style. If he was right, and whoever was mocking his work killed his sister and was now painting me…shit was definitely not good. “I think I’m…”
“You’re not thinking,” my brother interrupted me with a yell. “The truth is staring you in the face! You broke up with him and now things are going to get worse unless I do something.”
“Part of the article is missing,” I mumbled. I stated a fact only, focusing on the one thing that didn’t scare the pants off of me.
“I was in a bit of a hurry. They tend to frown when you rip stuff out of old newspapers in the library.”
My head bobbed, acknowledging his words but unable to focus on any of them. “It wasn’t Haze. He wouldn’t kill his own sister.”
Warp glared at me as if I was the stupidest woman alive.
Instead of being supportive, as I would have liked, Liv’s face was contorted with concern. “Ellie, please.”
“Like you said, we’re not together anymore anyway. But even if we were, I know he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You’re being a moronic child,” Warp came back at me. “This asshole is threatening you!”
“No, I’m being rational. There is someone else involved here, Warp. There has to be.”
“Well I’m not taking the chance. Even if you’re right and it isn’t Haze, which I doubt, someone’s obviously making a statement. And it’s time to make one back.”
In the background, I could hear Liv arguing that starting a war could make things worse. She begged him not to do it, to call the police. Warp argued that there wasn’t enough evidence to hand over to the police and involving them might speed up my stalker’s plan to kill me. I’d heard all I could take and drowned them out.
My entire body felt as though it were stretching in every direction, reaching toward every fear I’d ever experienced.
Who hated me so much? Who hated Haze so much?
Or was I really blind to the truth? Had Haze come up with an elaborate plot to find someone who reminded him of his sister, drag her through hell, pretend he liked her, harass her secretly while openly championing her, only to kill her in the end? Was he doing that to me?
Either way I looked at the situation, whether my boyfriend was at fault or not, one thing was straight-up: A murderer was targeting me.